


Surviving

by digthewriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/pseuds/digthewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's first year as a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start by apologising...the ending will make you want more (or I hope!) and I hope to promise you that there will be a sequel. This might leave you with a lot of questions and I expect to answer them some day! Thanks a million to omi_ohmy and stephaniejo84 for all their help. All the mistakes are mine!

**Night One.**  
  
Harry was a vampire.  
  
He woke up in the dark, buried in soil. Dirt pressed against him; somehow he knew he was underground. He pushed up, punched the solid layers of earth that was above him. Digging out, dirt in his finger nails, in his lungs. Finally freeing himself, Harry opened his eyes, taking in the air, not realising until that moment that he hadn’t been breathing—he no longer needed air.  
  
They’d buried him—or left him for dead? How long had he been out? Where were his clothes?  
  
The thirst was more overpowering than he’d imagined. He’d wondered about it while he was being bitten, as his blood was sucked out of his veins—then everything was dark.  
  
Where was the man that sired him?  
  
Harry had been careless. He’d gone to a Muggle gay club looking for a quick fuck, and now he’d ended up with something else. He hadn’t even realised that the man he was dancing with for half the night was a vampire. He’d propositioned Harry to find a dark corner and Harry foolishly followed.  
  
What would he tell his friends? Would they still be on his side?  
  
Was he doomed to roam the nights alone forever?  
  
Harry’s first thought was to take his own life. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, so he decided upon facing the sun in the morning. The next day, Harry discovered that wizards who get turned into vampires can walk in the day. Them roaming the nights was simply a myth. He was doomed to roam around during the day alone as well.  
  
 **Night Seventy-five.**  
  
Harry said his goodbyes to Ron and Hermione for the last time; he could see the fear in their eyes, far more than any sadness. He managed to remove himself from their life for good now. It was painful to say goodbye—the three of them had been best mates for fourteen years, and now Harry was a liability.  
  
He was a danger.  
  
He was still a newborn vampire and only so much of Hermione’s magic and brilliance could keep him tamed. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t keep himself disciplined around the baby.  
  
Harry didn’t want to kill Rose, of course not; he loved her as though she was his own daughter. But, she wasn’t his daughter—and Harry was a vampire.  
  
 **Night One Hundred and Fifty.**  
  
Hermione still Floo called when Ron wasn’t around. Ron still owled him, thinking Hermione didn’t know. Harry kept both their secrets. He needed his friends, and held onto whatever they gave him; he would take what he could.  
  
He raised the wards at Grimmauld Place and buried himself deep in solitude. He spent most of his nights reading, and most of his days walking about searching for _something_. Some reason to find meaning in life, or a reason to end it all. He had all the wealth in the world, but he also had a thing money couldn’t really satisfy—no matter how hard he tried. _His hunger._  
  
Converting Galleons to pounds, Harry ventured to the Blood Bank. In his near five months of being a vampire, Harry had learned a great many things. Speed was the best gift he’d received from his new supernatural state.  
  
Harry would swoop into the Blood Bank and steal a week’s supply with ease. The next day he’d walk into the corporate offices and donate a lump sum to their “drive.” The receptionist at front desk had started to take notice of Harry. She’d engage him in friendly conversation; tried to find out where he came from or why he was donating so much money? He’d eventually started to spring in, drop the envelope with the cash, and leave.  
  
Eventually, Harry was forced to switch Blood Banks, then again a few months later. He wasn’t really sure what anyone would suspect, but he wanted to steer clear of any detection possible.  
  
He knew people were suspecting something, he just didn’t know what it was. Did they know who he was— _what_ he was? Harry wondered if paranoia was part of vampirism.  
  
 **Night Two Hundred and Sixty Five.**  
  
Harry was still an unregistered supernatural being in the Ministry, regardless of Hermione’s efforts to change his mind. There were articles about him in the _Prophet_ ; people had just assumed he’d simply disappeared. Taken a lover and escaped to the beach somewhere in South America.  
  
Harry was a wizard, a vampire, and in possession of an Invisibility Cloak. He truly had fallen off the face of the earth for anyone that was concerned.  
  
He still enjoyed human food, treacle tarts, and Firewhisky—but his thirst for blood remained. He still hadn’t found others like him. Not that he was looking. He wondered if there was a secret sign or a handshake he wasn’t aware of.  
  
 **Night Three Hundred and Sixty Three.**  
  
Harry entered his first Muggle gay club in nearly a year—a year since he’d been turned.  
  
He could smell it. The sweat, the longing, the lust. He could get high on it—it was the reason he’d loved going in the first place. Finding someone to push him against the wall—not caring who he was—not caring about his scar—just wanting to suck him off. Merlin, he’d missed it.  
  
But there was another scent. It wasn’t anything he’d experienced before, yet it was the most familiar thing in the world. It wasn’t lust or desire, it was almost—pure. He couldn’t describe it, that’s all he thought of the scent. It was _pure_. His senses heightened and he felt the familiar, the air in Diagon Alley, the steam of the Hogwarts express, the fire in the Room of Requirement. It was as though everything recognisable about the scent was rushing back to him, but he didn’t understand. What was happening to him?  
  
Then, Harry removed himself from the crowd. Made himself stay at the back wall of the club. He closed his eyes and simply breathed. He could _feel_ his fangs coming out—worse—his cock was hardening. The scent turned Harry on more than anything in the world.  
  
What was it? He was shaking, so he ran out of the club—afraid of losing control.  
  
 **Night Three Hundred and Sixty Four.**  
  
Harry returned.  
  
He hadn’t been able to sleep—the scent haunted him. He couldn’t eat, whether it was Muggle food or blood. He tossed and turned in his bed—wanked trying to get past it—nothing worked.  
  
So he returned to the club. He needed to know what it was, who it was, that was driving him mad with a craving he’d never had before.  
  
The bodies around him danced, intertwining, but Harry wasn’t interested in them. He was too focused on the scent. He was lost on the dance floor—he couldn’t find the source. He knew it was there, his body ached for it. His senses were alive with it. Where _was_ it coming from?  
  
His heart throbbed, his cock pulsated but the mystery person, the mystery object that possessed the scent was hiding itself from Harry. Harry wondered if the person who possessed this scent—if it were a person—did they know that Harry was aware of them? Were they aware of Harry? Was it another vampire? He was going mad with desire, his fangs coming out again, his eyes narrowing on a victim.  
  
Harry escaped the club and Apparated home. He needed to be safe. He needed to make sure everyone else was safe too. He couldn’t trust himself around anyone.  
  
 **Night Three Hundred and Sixty Five.**  
  
It had been a year since Harry had been a vampire and he was _dying of thirst_ for the first time. He could control everything, it wasn’t until this moment he hadn’t realised how much control he had actually had. With his friends, with Rose. _This_ was driving him out of mind.  
  
His curiosity had gotten the best of him and Harry returned again. He needed to find that enigmatic being that was driving him wild. The individual whose scent brought back a rush of emotions.  
  
He felt all sanity gripping through his hands—nothing was stable anymore.  
  
The scent was getting closer and closer. Harry didn’t even have to move, it was as though he was forcefully rooted at his spot, _it_ was approaching him. It had a heartbeat. _Definitely human_. Harry retreated himself into the darkest corner of the club. The sounds of the club grew muffled and Harry only focused on the heartbeat and the intoxicating scent approaching him.  
  
He could feel _it_ walking up to him. He was trembling.  
  
“Potter,” it said. _He_ said.  
  
Harry gawked, his mouth half open, his prick pushing against his jeans.  
  
“Malfoy.” Harry whispered, it wasn’t a question. It was an acknowledgement.  
  
Harry looked at Malfoy, the blond hair hard to miss—the Muggle clothes, a surprise. Malfoy was smirking at him as if he knew something Harry didn't. Harry had sensed Malfoy, his first day in Diagon Alley, their countless encounters on the Hogwarts Express—the fire in the Room of Requirement.  
  
He also sensed a trap.   
  
_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Will have a follow up.


End file.
